A day out on Virgin Gorda

With only a few days left before saying toodle pip to Toodles, and head back to NZ to tie the knot, we decided to make one last trip back up to North Sound on Virgin Gorda.

We had heard rumor that cars could be rented from Leverick Bay in the Sound, so we made the 10 minute trip in the dinghy to find out.  This time we got a much better car, finally one that is "fit for purpose".  In our new Suzuki Vitara we explored the Island.  The roads here are really steep, but here (as opposed to Tortola), they really know how to build roads.  Many less pot holes!

First stop, the Baths!

The Baths are made up of large granite boulders that once were encased in lave. Over time, a long long time, the lava has been eroded away and 'the Baths' are the result.  They are fantastic and a must see if you are near this part of the world.

 
The caves to get through the Baths make for an entertaining treck.  Up and down stairs, through crevices, up boulder faces using a rope, all thrown in with a bit of crawling.  

Devils Bay, at the end of the trek is beautiful.  Shame about the cruise ship tourists, which are not hard to spot complete with their embarrassing fluro life jackets.  Come on guys, you aren't even out of your depth! 

spot the tourist

We had lunch just above the Baths, with a pretty good view.  

Next stop was the old copper mine.  This time Gary gave me the camera and I attempted to get arty, not too much luck though.

On our way back to the boat, we stumbled upon our favorite beach yet.  I'm not going to name it as we would like to keep it a bit of a secret so that it remains so idyllic and empty!  If you come to visit us, and we are around Virgin Gorda, we will take you there. 

Tomorrow will be a less exciting day.  Washing and cleaning before we head back to NZ.

 

Social Butterflies: Peter, Cooper and Trellis Bay

Equipped with our clean laundry, we headed to Peter Island.  We had spent New Year here with my Dad in 2008, so it has a lot of memories.  On Peter Island the shore is a graveyard of coral bones. 

Coral Bones

Cool starfish

Strange red ants

The man with the cats was still there.  I had secretly hoped I could steal a kitten without Gary noticing, but unfortunately there are now fewer cats than I had once remembered, and no kittens.  So we are still sans pets.

We wandered to the Peter Island Resort, which felt a bit too exclusive so we only invaded for a short while.  We came across another massive Iguana and my squeals attracted the attention of one of the grounds keepers.  He showed us where the massive Iguanas sunbathe so we went to investigate.  

The next day we headed to Salt Island and snorkeled on the wreck of the Rhone.  No dive gear needed, the clarity of the water means the wreck can be seen in detail from the surface.

We lunched at Cooper Island.  Gary ordered a Painkiller cocktail, which was so delicious we agreed we would come back that night for happy hour: two for one!  At 4pm, at the sound of the bell, we headed ashore.  

Toodles

Cooper Island Beach Club

I was the picture of contentment at sunset with my happy hour half price Painkiller in hand.   To combat the strength of the Painkillers, we decided to have dinner at the bar.  Well fed and recovered from our Painkillers, we chatted with the couple beside us.  Who knew that I could stumble upon a retired Irish Judge on Cooper Island!  We had such a wonderful time chatting, we couldn’t get the smile off our face even the next morning.  Once our new friends had left for the night, we began to notice the attention of the bar was on the large television screen.  It was apparently the Super Bowl that night and the bar was filled with team supporters.  We were kindly adopted by a group of Giants fans.  We joined them in their Mexican wave and tried to cheer at the right moment, their excitement infectious.  We cheered especially loud when the Giant’s took the game in the last few minutes.  It was then that it became suddenly apparent that the rest of the bar patrons were in fact Patriot supporters.  GO GIANTS!

Our next stop was Trellis Bay where we met another great couple, who sought us out after noticing our NZ flag.  With the better half of the couple being Australian, we had a lot in common with the young sailors.  We invited them for drinks and nibbles on Toodles, our first guests aboard.  They ooh-ed and ahh-ed at all the right times - thanks guys!  They also taught us to put oil down your toilets so they run like a dream, and educated us on English music. 

As I sit here this evening, with Paul Weller cranked up loud, I am truly thankful for having met such wonderful people on our trip. 

Laundry

After our exploits in the USVI we have headed back to the BVI, which is now beginning to feel somewhat like home.  We spent a night in Nanny Cay marina, to restock and refuel...and to do laundry.

I have been attempting to wash our own clothes with two buckets, liquid soap, a load of elbow grease and a tonne of enthusiasm.  Once every few days I furiously scrub our t-shirts and shorts with my bare hands, rubbing my knuckles against each other to achieve maximum soap penetration and stain removal. Unfortunately, this only makes my hands blistered and the clothes only barely cleaner. 

I have been drooling over the magic counter top camp washers that I see on the internet.  They resemble a barrel on a tripod with a handle that you turn to spin the barrel, and presumably your washing.  The thought of having actual clean laundry makes my toes tingle.  If Gary got me one of these contraptions for my birthday, I’m sure my resultant reaction would be the opposite of the time he bought me an iron for my birthday (still unused, in box at the back of our storage unit).  He is also unlikely to develop the same bruising that resulted from the iron incident either. However, alas such inventions are impossible to acquire here in the Caribbean. 

While wandering to the shop at Nanny Cay I was distracted by a sign that seemed to be glowing like an angel sent from God. It read “LAUNDROMAT”.

At 4pm on the dot, when it opens for private use, armed with a handful of quarters I entered the sweet smelling Laundromat.  With the help of the kind assistant I managed to put on my first load... the sheets.  Like a child on Christmas morning excitement ran through me.  I watched the washing machine progress through all its stages, the words Wash, Rinse, Spin heightened my excitement.  The beeping of the washer signaling its completion was better than any beep I have ever heard.  But the next stage is even better...the dryer.  Now, this wasn’t any ordinary dryer.  This was an industrial dryer, complete with furnace at the back.  Again, with further kind assistance, I started the dryer.  As the minutes unfolded, the sweet smell of warm clean laundry wafted through the air.  When the cycle ended I gathered the sheets in my arms, held them against my cheek and took a deep breath of contentment.  Clean washing.

The thrill was only slightly lessened by the fact that I had another 4 loads ahead of me.  After the 3 hours of washing I walked to the boat in a daze, my urge satiated.

Moorings, the Moment Killer

I have witnessed this anomaly a number of times now, and feel I have managed to correctly identify the cause and consequence, and thus have correctly categorised the anomaly as “Moorings, the Moment Killer”.

Picture this.  You have spent the morning with your man exploring a new island, walked the markets and seen the sights, hand in hand.  Add some stereotypical laughing and gazing into each other’s eyes over a mango smoothie: one smoothie, two straws.  You have returned to your boat and sailed out to another nearby island.  The sun has warmed your back, your hair waving in the breeze.  You glance at your bronzed man at the helm, confidently steering the boat, flashing you a smile with his white teeth, and wait...did he just flex his biceps?  You reach your anchorage.  The water is flat calm and topaz blue, palm trees lean over an idyllic white beach that you will have all to yourself.  You are sent to the bow to pick up the mooring.  Boat hook in hand, you rest the base on the deck and hold it like a tribal staff.  Your own bronzed body can be seen in all its glory, the wave reflections and wind giving you a somewhat model-like appearance. 

You are approaching the mooring, 10 metres to go.  “10” you yell to you man at the helm, “What?” he yells back “I said, 10 metres to go” you answer, frustrated as it is more like 5 now, and having to turn your head has made you lose sight of the mooring.  “2 metres” you yell.  “Where is it??” he yells back with an irritated tone.  An angry fire has been light in you belly.  Where the F* do you think it is? You mumble to yourself.  “There!” you point right in front of you, well now just about under you since you have had to answer.  You go in with your boat hook, but the boat is going too quickly.  The mooring rope, kept at the surface by a floater, is now flying fast down the side of the boat out of your reach. “Agh!” your man yells, apparently not at you, as he will tell you later.  “I’ll just have to do it again!” he remarks snidely.  The boat swings a tight circle, again too fast.  When the mooring reaches the bow it is now two metres away from the boat, completely out of reach, even after extending the boat hook to its limits.  “You have got to be kidding!” you man mouths off from the helm.  You are fuming.  Your teeth grind against each other involuntarily.  “How am I supposed to get it when you are nowhere near it!” you refute.  “Just WATCH THE MOORING!” he yells, now approaching the mooring for the third time.  He has just about run over it, he is still going too fast.  You manage to contort yourself around the anchor and lean so far out of the boat that you feel you are about to fall, you strain the muscle along your side, but Yes! YES! You have caught the line! 

You quickly pull the line up and place the boat hook down on the deck.  You hook the eye of the mooring line over the cleat while you try and sort out the ropes to make a bridle.  “QUICKLY!” your man yells, suddenly up at the bow with you.  You are stressed, what else does he want me to do quickly?? You are paralysed by his urgent tone. “GUH!!!” he breathes out loudly and snatches the rope from your hands, then feeding the rope through the eye and cleating it.  “You were just standing there doing nothing!” he accuses you....

And so you see, the moment was killed.

Thankfully, Gary and I have not been personally involved in any such fight, but we have been honoured to be the watching boat next door on so many occasions that it is impossible to count.  Although desperately entertaining, it plays out like a Mr Bean episode, where you know how it is going to go wrong and it is difficult to watch it unfold.  

As a side note, if you are the couple who rented the Virgin Traders, who missed the mooring entirely, and needed the adjacent boat to pick it up for you after you missed for the tenth time, you should be ashamed of yourselves. It is called an extending boat hook because it 'extends.' 

While Moorings may be the “Moment Killer”, I believe I have also witnessed an anomaly that could be categorised as the “Home wrecker”, but I will fill you in on this a little further down the track.  At times I have considered that perhaps Gary and I should have only embarked on this adventure after we have tied the knot!  At least our episodes have not been as entertaining as the couple described above.